


Feel Like My Life Ain't Mine

by Withstarryeyes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comforting Lance, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Post-Season 2, Protective Lance (Voltron), after shiro disappears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 20:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15692685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withstarryeyes/pseuds/Withstarryeyes
Summary: He’s angry, can feel it thrumming through his veins as he boxes. Sharp breaths and harsh pounds and nothing but the rhythm of his body and the training.





	Feel Like My Life Ain't Mine

He’s angry, can feel it thrumming through his veins as he boxes. Sharp breaths and harsh pounds and nothing but the rhythm of his body and the training. Sweat trickles down his face, hair, and body already soaked. He’s barely looking out his eyes, barely registering anything but this. 

There’s a wheezing noise puffing in his ear every few seconds and it breaks his concentration long enough for him to realize it’s coming from his chest. He steps back from the bag, glancing in the mirror. His eyes are a cool violet, his hair plastered around his head. He feels a diluted sting from his hands and winces when he looks down and sees blood seeping through the wraps. He went too hard for too long. 

He takes a water break, panting as it soothes his throat when it goes down. He’s still breathing harshly when he pushes himself back up and resumes training, switching from his hands to kicking. It’s freeing, working and working and working. No time for the thoughts to slip in, no time for him to register the pain and sorrow that floods his chest every time he steps away long enough for his brain to work. 

The sight of the empty gym behind him is enough to haunt him, a flickering image of Shiro appears behind his shoulder and he shuts his eyes, working on feel at this point. Keep going, keep going, keep going. 

His body is screaming, pleading with him to stop. His muscles burn, feeling like ropes being sliced through. His hands have ramped up to an urgent ache, his jaw cramps from his gritted teeth. He kicks one last time before his knees give out and he ends up sprawled over the floor. 

He can’t keep doing this, he knows. He tried during that desolate year in the desert. Tried to just keep going, keep training, keep flying. But he can’t because people are precious and rare in his life and he can’t just ignore when they’re gone. Two days after Shiro is gone for the second time, Keith cries, bloody and messy on the floor of the gym. It’s a long overdue purge and it leaves him dizzy and breathless, his stomach begging for food, his eyes begging for sleep. He showers first then heads for one of the other two.

His eyes win when they slip close on the elevator and he can’t seem to drag them back open until he’s being pushed out in the corridor. Lance is in his bed when he gets there. He’s not asleep, Keith can tell by the tenseness in his shoulders and the purposeful curl to his body. He slips into the bed and presses needily into Lance’s back, hand going to curl over Lance’s chest. He presses a desperate kiss to Lance’s neck and waits for him to turn around. 

Cloudy, worried, blue eyes meet him after a beat and Keith pleads with his own.  _ He knows _ , he knows he’s being selfish, knows he’s acting recklessly. He’ll get better, won’t make the same mistakes. The only tragedy greater than losing Shiro is losing Lance in the wake. 

“Ground me,” Keith says, light husky with need. Lance runs a hand over his hair, Keith catches it with his own. He leans in and presses a kiss to Lance’s mouth. It’s warm and Keith whines for more. Lance opens his mouth enough for Keith to slot his tongue in. They press and push against each other for ages, warm and there and solid for each other. And it’s enough for  _ now _ . 

When they finally pull apart, panting and hot and worried, the lot of them, Lance gets out of bed to find a first aid kit. Keith rolls on his side, feeling the panicked tears of exhaustion crest in his eyes. He hurts, everywhere. 

Lance startles him when he takes on of Keith’s hands, cotton pad soaked with alcohol. It stings as Lance swipes over the wounds, clearing away dried blood and germs. 

“You can’t keep doing this, you know,” Lance says, face tight, as he moves onto Keith’s left hand. 

He ducks his head in shame, “I know. I won’t,” it’s not enough to stem the damn of worry evident in the exhausted tilt to Lane’s body but it will have to do until the wound isn’t as fresh. 

Lance is uncharacteristically quiet after that. Cleaning and bandaging with deft fingers. When he’s done, Keith catches him as he goes to stand. 

“Thank you,” Keith says. He means it too, for everything. For waiting, for knowing, for helping. He’s a martyr when he’s a mess and Lance doesn’t deserve it but he sure as hell will stay with it. 

Lance seems unsure what to do with the statement. After a moment, he gives a sharp nod, disappearing to put away the first aid kit. He pulls Keith back into bed when he returns, lets Keith curl against him, feels the hot sea of tears on his neck as Keith purges again. It’s progress, Lance thinks, and he lets Keith run himself dry, pressing soft kisses to the back of Keith’s hand. Keith falls asleep like that, curled against Lance, hurt blooming in his chest. But the hurt is crystallizing around the edges with something close to healing, to acceptance. 

Two days after Shiro is gone for the second time, Keith’s world stops reeling. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I hope you liked this piece. I'm really happy with how it turned out. If you liked it please leave a kudos or a comment, they really make my day. 
> 
> Thanks,   
> C


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